A Few Precious Hours

D. E. Larsen, DVM

  I launched the drift boat at the Rock Creek Campground boat ramp. After parking the pickup and trailer. The kids decide that they need to run back to the camp for one last item. 

  “Okay,” I said, “I will pull the boat down by the camp and wait for you there.”

  With that, I got in the boat that rowed down the bank, so it was close to our campsite. Now I just waited for the kids to show up.

  Time away from the practice was precious to me. It was rare that everything lined up in a manner that would allow us a weekend away. Craine Prairie Reservoir, on Century Drive south of Bend, was one of my favorite places to fish. It held large rainbows and was big enough that you could avoid the crowds. It was also far enough away from Sweet Home that it would be rare for me to be recognized.

  When I was away from town, I always avoided any mention of being a veterinarian. Any mention of my profession, even complete strangers, would prompt a long story of their dog, or cat, and their trips to the vet clinic. Being an introvert at heart, I hated such conversations, especially from strangers.

 I pretty much only fly fished. There were times when we would fish with bait, with the kids, and when we could harvest the catch. We had learned that the fish out of Craine Prairie tasted like mud this time of the year. You almost couldn’t use enough tartar sauce to make them palatable. 

  When we were loaded up, I rowed out to Osprey Point and dropped an anchor from each end of the boat. This would keep it from swaying in the wind. I had made fly poles for the kids. I used inexpensive fiberglass rods, 7 and a half feet in length, and rated for line weight of 4. Since kids cannot cast too far, and the most expensive part of a fly setup is the line, I took double taper floating lines and cut them in two. This gave each rod a 33 foot, tapered, fly line. This was almost perfect for young kids

  At Osprey Point, there was a deep hole just off the point and large fish for the taking. It was also an area were the kids could fish with their floating fly lines. By using a nymph, about 6 feet under a strike indicator used as a bobber, they could hook their share of fish. This allowed me to fish the deep hole with a sinking line. I would drag an olive Wooly Worm across the bottom of the hole. This made for wild action most of the time.

  I always believed that when you were fishing with kids, the action was urgent. The quickest way to sour a kid on fishing was to make them sit in a boat, or on a bank, for hours with nothing happening. We hooked fish in the first 15 minutes or a half an hour at most, or we would go do something else. When a kid asks when do they know they have a bite, you have waited too long before going to do something else.

  We managed to get everyone hooked up with a fish in a short time, but that was enough for most of them. We headed back to camp to drop off the kids. Derek was the only one who wanted to fish more. We needed a lunch break anyway.

  When I was ready to go back out in the afternoon, Derek was dragging around a little. 

  “I will wait for you at the boat,” I said as I headed down to the shoreline.

  I was standing there leaning against the side of the boat when I noticed the group of boys. There were 4 boys, walking along the shoreline, coming from the direction of the boat ramp. They looked like they were somewhere around 10 years old. They were checking out everything that looked movable as they came along the bank. One of the boys was carrying something.

  When they reached me, they stopped, and the one boy handed me a bird he had been carrying. It was a Starling. It had a blowgun dart that pierced through its back just in front of the wings. The wound was days old, maybe a full week. There was extensive tissue necrosis around the dart that extended across its back. Its wings were not functional. Even with comprehensive medical treatment at this point, this bird would never fly again. My impression was this bird would not survive, even with medical treatment.

  The larger question was how had this group of young boys find the only veterinarian standing on the banks of Craine Prairie today. Even when I thought I had made a clean escape from town, even when I was as anonymous as it was possible to be, they still find me.

  I knell down, so I am talking at the same level as the boys. This was no rag-tag group. These boys were well dressed for a fishing lake shoreline. I would guess they were all from well to do families. They were probably reasonably well educated. If that can be said for a group of 10-year-old boys when they were grouped with their peers.

  I point out the extent of the wounds caused by this dart.

“I hope the guy who shot this dart is proud of his skill.,” I said, hoping to still some pity for the bird and to just maybe educate the boys on the ethics of killing an animal. “This bird has been suffering for several days, maybe a full week. You can tell by looking at the rotten flesh around the dart.”

  They carefully examine the wound, probably for the first time. I wiggle the dart a bit, to illustrate that the tissue infection has allowed the dart to loosen in the tissue.

  “Hunting, and fishing, is something that we do as a people,” I said. “Some people would say this bird should not have been shot, but it is one of the birds that people are allowed to shoot. But to shot the bird and not finish the kill is cruel to the bird.”

  The boys have some chatter over those statements. Each one of them sort of repeat their interpretation of what I have just told them.

 “I don’t think this bird is going to survive,” I said. “For us to finish the kill would probably be the best thing we could do today. This bird has suffered enough, and we should bring that suffering to an end.”

  So now I was in a corner. With 4 boys watching, how was I going to euthanize this bird?

 One of the boys who, I noticed now, was wearing a cub scout shirt, took the lead.

  “Set him on the ground, and I will get a rock,” the young scout said. “I can crush him with a rock.”

  “That might work,” I said. “But you might miss, that wouldn’t be very fair to the poor bird.”

  “How should we do it?” the young scout asked.

  “I will take care of him,” I said, hoping the boys would continue their exploration of the shoreline.

  No such luck, they all stood there, looking at me for the answer. I gripped the bird in my right hand and held it so the body would not respond. Then I took a firm grip on the head with my left hand. With a quick jerk, I pulled the head off the bird. The body quivered in my right hand for a few seconds.

  “Oh! He pulled the head off!” the young scout said.

  “That was the quickest way to do it here,” I said. “Now, he is not suffering anymore. You guys remember, if you shoot something, you make sure it is dead.”

  Then it is over, the boys continue along the shoreline, I toss the decapitated bird into the grass. Derek comes down from the camp about then, realizing he had missed something, but not knowing what to ask.

  We loaded up and went out to fish for a few precious hours. Surely, they won’t find me out on the lake.

Note to My Readers, No. 2

All things change as time passes. Hopefully, in the coming weeks you will find some upgrades in how this blog functions and how you can move about the pages and the archives.

At this point there are over 50 pages published on this blog.  This week we are adding our first guest author, John is a long time friend and client.  John Marble runs a grass and cattle operation in the Calapooia Valley. He is also a staff writer at On Pasture, an online magazine. (onpasture.com)

There is probably space for other guest authors. If you have an interest, send me an email at d.e.larsen.dvm@peak.org.  The theme here is veterinary medicine, animals and their people. I would prefer the stories pertain to Sweet Home, Sweet Home Veterinary Clinic or Dr. Larsen. Some from Myrtle Point or Enumclaw could be accepted. Like all rules, there will be exceptions.

So this week we welcome, John Marble and his story. It is scheduled for Wednesday morning.

Very soon, hopefully when you read this, I will have some stories starting to appear in a column in The New Era.

My Facebook page can be found under David E. Larsen. 

In the future, I may start a Facebook page for the blog.

Odie

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Odie was one of those once in lifetime dogs. He came to us as a four month old Chesapeake Bay Retriever. The owner was giving him away, he was the last remaining pup from a litter of 13 pups. He was light brown in color and had a coat typical of Chesapeakes that would shed water with ease.  

We picked him up in early December and on the way home I had taken a short detour along the Long Tom River to show Derek where I used to fish for bass. When Derek opened the van door, Odie burst though the open doorway and ran through 3 inches of snow to jump into the freezing river. He was an obvious water dog. The good thing was once we got him out of the water, one shake and he was dry.

In those years, I was not much of a hunter and Odie seldom had the opportunity to hunt under a gun. He was obviously a bird dog, and he was death on young robins that would dare to fly across his back yard at a low level. He would jump and snatch those birds out of the sky from 6 feet or more. We had a few pheasants around in those days and Odie would generally bring one or two home every summer.  I watched him catch a young pheasant once. The bird was in our front yard, near the road and at the bottom of a long sloping yard.  Odie charged the bird, going full speed down hill.  The bird crouched first, a fatal mistake, then he sprang into the air beating his wings rapidly enough to make quite a flutter.  Odie sprang also, judging his timing perfectly, he grabbed the pheasant at the apex of his jump. 

As a young dog, we took Odie to the clinic with us every day. He loved it there but he also knew that going into an exam room or the surgery room meant that bad things were going to happen. He put all his brakes on when we were trying to take him into a room.

He loved the clients and the other dogs and cats. Although he was mostly in the back, there were times when he was an official greeter. There was only one time when he had a bad experience with a client. Sandy was at the clinic by herself one afternoon. This was not a common occurrence but I was on a farm call and had to take both assistants with me. A man came through the door and for some reason, Odie did not like this man. He came out of the back with a snare and hackles up. The man left, and never came back. One can only guess if Odie was just being overly protective or if he sensed some bad vibes from this man. We will never know, but I trust his judgement.

As he matured he became a muscular 100 pounds with a broad head of the old classic style. There was not one petite feature in his make up. He loved life and he loved to go fishing with me. In those years I would often fish some of the deep gorges of upper Wiley Creek. Odie was always right by my side, didn’t matter how deep I waded. Fly fishing, I would generally release most of the fish I would catch. Odie would watch as the fish struggled in the water and I had to be careful not to allow him to pounce on the fish as I retrieved it. When I would release it, he would stick his head under the water and look in all directions, never quite able to figure out where the darn thing went. He was great at retrieving rocks from the steam bed. You could throw a rock into 3 foot deep water and he would retrieve that very rock, every time.

In May of 1984 we had a large storm with heavy rain for a couple of days. The level of Foster Lake lapped at the very top of the dam. Another day, or even a few hours, of rain and the dam would likely be breached. The gates were wide open and there was a massive downstream flow out of the dam.  Derek and Odie accompanied  me to look at the water. We were careful to keep Odie in the van while at the lake. We then drove up Wiley Creek to look and the first waterfall. 

Wiley Creek was running near bank full. Water was pouring over the water fall. We stopped at the pull out and got out of the van. Odie followed Derek out of the side door. Everything was fine for a few seconds and then a little bird flew first to the edge of the water above the falls and then continued across the creek.  Odie did not hesitate, he charged after the bird and completely ignored our calls.

He charged to rocky edge of the water, and not even pausing for an instance, dove into the creek. The current was so severe he had no chance except to turn and go down stream. We watched as he went over the falls, nose up and dog paddling with his front feet out in the open air. The falls are nearly 10 feet high, Odie disappeared when he reached the deep pool.

Derek was beside himself. “What are we going to do?” He asked.

“We are going stand here and watch.” I replied. “There is nothing else we can do.”

Time passed slowly, seconds seemed like minutes, minutes like hours. I was afraid that we would never see Odie again. But still we waited and watched. Minutes passed, I don’t know how many, and there was nothing but rushing water. 

Then suddenly, way down the creek, maybe 50 yards, Odie popped up. We almost cheered. He swam hard against the current and made it to the bank. He was able to drag himself out of the water and slowly clawed his way up the remaining bank. He walked slow up the road and stopped at the door of the van. He was ready to go home.

Odie had other adventures as time pasted.  He was always super protective of his family and we had few concerns with the kids being home with him. One day a car load of kids brought Brenda home from school. One of the senior boys, Brian Land, got out of the car to open the back door for Brenda. Odie was right on his butt instantly. Around and around the car he chased Brain. Brenda was laughing so hard it took her some time to get out of the car and get Odie under control. 

Friends, Larry and Jolene Hannen, watched Odie for us one weekend after the kids were all grown and away from the house.  Jolene worked for us and was fond of Odie, and for the most part he was not a problem for them. They had to make a trip to Lebanon one day and Odie was not going to be left behind. So they loaded into the old pickup with Odie riding in the front seat between them. All was well for most of the trip until on the way home, a pheasant flew across the road in front of the pickup. They didn’t wreck but probably came close to it as Odie dove at the bird. Luckily, Larry was a big strong guy and was able to maintain control of the pickup with an excited 100 pound dog in his lap.

Our fishing trips with him became a marathon swimming contest for him.  He would swim for hours. Never respond to calls for his return, we would finally have to retrieve him with the boat. As he aged, he would suffer from those events. After swimming for 2 hours at Gordon Lakes, he was almost too sore to walk out to the truck.

As time passed, he became more and more arthritic. Then he developed diabetes and  life became miserable for him. He was still waiting at the back door every time I picked up a fishing pole. And when the kids would come for a visit he would always greet them like a long lost friend

The time came where the only humane thing we could do for Odie was to make the decision to put him to sleep. The unfortunate thing was that time came the evening before our oldest daughter’s wedding. One of the truly difficult things about being a veterinarian in a solo practice in a small town is that such duties fall on your shoulders. The trip to the clinic was a solemn one. Odie still enjoyed going to the clinic but hated to go into any of the rooms. Knowing this the deed was done in the large open area of the clinic. Being a farm boy, such aspects of life, and death, were learned early. I remember well at the age of 13, sitting with a calf that was born without a rectum, knowing that I had to shoot this little calf but taking forever to muster the strength to do the job. Now, when the decisions were made, I found that doing the task with precision and speed was the best for all concerned. The event was over before Odie knew anything was going to happen. For me it was one of the hardest things I had to do in a long time. Sandy cried briefly while I prepared Odie to send to the crematorium. We waited until well after the wedding to tell the kids. It was hard for all of them also.

Odie’s ashes still rest in our closet some 24 years later. Maybe one day when the creek is running full, I will return to that waterfall and let Odie go over the falls one last time.